Mixing Metaphors
by Spitfireness
Summary: A Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger fic. See the girl, the stars, the moonlight, and the concussion.
1. I

Disclaimer: JKR, not me. Alas...  
Dedication: To all the pirates at the HMS Overworked and Underappreciated. This started out as a one-shot cookie, but is now growing.  
Notes: Okay, this is the requisite Hermione can't fly fic. I think every fan of Hermione has to have one where [insert male lead here] helps her slay the Broom. I try not to think of it as being unoriginal, but more as contributing to a long and noble tradition...it gets me to sleep at night.  
  


MIXING METAPHORS  


  
Really, Hermione thought, you'd think the school would make the grass on the Quidditch pitch a bit softer. What with all the falling from high places at fast speeds, it only made perfect sense. Not that one could call falling from three feet very high but it was fifth time that night and quantity had to count for something.   
  
She thought she'd rest her head down on the illogically hard ground all the same.   
  
"I'm seeing stars," she said a bit dazedly as pain bloomed throughout her body.  
  
A throat cleared somewhere to the left. "Well, I would hope so. It being night and us being outside."  
  
"There's something grammatically wrong with that statement."  
  
The voice snorted and Hermione noted the source had moved closer. "If you can say that, I think I'll skip on bringing you to Madame Pomfrey because you must be okay."  
  
Despite everything, she giggled.   
  
"Or maybe you did hurt your head, knocked out your brains? Stay here, I'll look about for them."  
  
"Like I was going to get up," she said, bemused by the whole situation. "You're funny."  
  
"No one's ever told me that before."  
  
"I find that very hard to believe, mystery voice."  
  
"You know, if you opened your eyes, which by the way solves the mystery of why you wondered how you could see stars, you could name me properly instead of making up things."  
  
"But if I opened my eyes, eventually I'd have to get up, and then I'd have to fight the broom again."  
  
"So that's what you were doing," he said as if having figured out a difficult Arithmancy equation. "Broomfighting. Sounds like something one would do while waving a red cape and wearing a sequined hat."  
  
"Humph," Hermione expressed her disapproval. "I'm learning how to fly."  
  
"I'm going to have disagree with you, my dear. It looked more like broomfighting and the broom was winning."  
  
"I am not your dear."  
  
"Would you like to be?"  
  
"I liked you better when you were more funny, not at all pervy."  
  
"Ah, 'better' indicates you still like me, though." He, the mystery voice was decidedly male, nudged her side softly with his foot. "Come on then, open your eyes, get up, and prepare to slay the broom."  
  
"No."  
  
"But I'll be your trusty assistant. I can scream 'look out' at all the appropriate moments of danger and, after your victory, clean your sword of all the nasty broom entrails."  
  
"I'm not hiring."  
  
"I'm not looking for pay, just to bask in the crumbs of your glory and hope they rub off on me in a completely not pervy way, of course." He paused, "You're smiling."  
  
"You were mixing your metaphors."  
  
"Still, I think you like me better again."  
  
"You have a strange way with words."  
  
"Its because I don't use them often. I'm usually very quiet."  
  
"I find that hard to believe. You've been a regular chatterbox."  
  
"Its the ambience: the stars, the moonlight, the girl, the concussion."  
  
"I do not have a concussion!"  
  
"That's what they all say. Now get up. I can't let you fall asleep because you just might have a concussion."  
  
"Do you romance girls this way often?," she felt strong hands lift her up.  
  
"Not at all. You're my first seduction. This would be easier if you opened your eyes; my good looks are irresistable."  
  
"Not until you stop manhandling me."  
  
"When I manhandle you, you'll know it." He dropped her.  
  
"What was that for?"  
  
"It got you to open your eyes, right?"  
  
"With pain! My eyes opened at the incredible shock and pain!" She stopped to look at him. Even though he'd been joking, she noted that he was handsome in a non-flashy way, "Do I know you?"  
  
The tall, dark haired boy looked down and scuffed his shoe on the pitch. "Probably not. We've only had class together for seven years."  
  
"I...," her voice trailed off. Obviously he knew her, at least by reputation, by the earlier joking about grammar. But she simply couldn't place him.  
  
"It's okay," he looked back up at her and smiled shyly. "Like I said, I don't talk much. And I seduce even less often."  
  
"Oh, well, I think you're doing rather well for a first attempt," she blushed.  
  
He covered any of his embarassment by handing Hermione her fallen school broom. "I think it still has some fight in it."  
  
"But do I?" She joked half-heartedly. He was nearly as tall as Ron, she had to crane her neck a bit to look him in the eye.   
  
He looked at her suddenly, "Do you really want to learn to fly?"  
  
Before she could respond, he went on quickly, "Brooms can tell, you know? I remember you at our first lesson, the poor thing only rolled over when you told it to go up. They won't listen unless you mean it."  
  
"Well, I want to learn before we graduate. I refuse to leave this school unless its on a broomstick."  
  
He grinned, "That would be something. I can see you giving the valedictorian address, rocketing up, and then diving down to grab your certificate before zooming off again."  
  
"That would be something," she admitted. "But its not going to happen tonight."  
  
"See, that's entirely the wrong attitude. It will happen tonight. We're not leaving the pitch until you've beaten the broom into submission."  
  
"Oh, I imagine it wouldn't fly very well if we beat it. I mean, yes, I'd like to beat that stupid bundle of twigs right into the dirt or maybe set it on fire-"  
  
"You're rambling. Get on the broom."  
  
"Wow, how can I deny such gentle persuasion. Oh, like this." She handed the broom back to him.  
  
"Graduation's only a month away. We're on a deadline, you should get on the broom before exams are upon us. I'm surprise you're not studying right now, as it is."  
  
"I said I'd fly before graduation, and I will." Hermione gathered her courage and then put it back down and replaced it with her best pleading look. "Do I have to?"  
  
"I'll have you know that I am an excellent flying instructor. I have taught no less than two brothers, four sisters, one cousin, and my grandmother how to fly."  
  
Well, if a little old lady could fly...She contemplated mounting the broom.  
  
"They're all professional Quidditch players now, you know. Milan and Puddlemere had a right bidding war over Granda Sofia."  
  
She put the broom back down and looked at him sternly.  
  
"I'm joking. I'm a funny guy, remember. I meant it about teaching though. Look, I'll prove my experience." He withdrew his wand from his thigh sheath and waved it towards her, sending a swirl of gold sparks over her body. "Cushioning charm, now even if you fall, you won't get hurt."  
  
"Why didn't I think of that?"  
  
"Because you don't have my experience," he winked at her.  
  
"There's a very dirty joke hiding in there somewhere," she muttered as she got on the broom and managed to lift it a full three feet in the air before it collapsed beneath her.  
  
"Have you ever flown before," he asked. "Maybe riding with someone else?"  
  
She hoped he wasn't offering. He was charming to be sure, but she hardly knew him.  
  
"Once, I did," she told him when she remembered the little chamber with the flying keys. "But it was different. A matter of life and death."  
  
"One of those," he said with perfect understanding. She wished he hadn't, it was another reminder that while he obviously knew her, she didn't have a clue about him.   
  
She nodded, "I think it was the adrenaline pumping through me."  
  
He looked at her curiously.  
  
"The excitement."  
  
"Hmm, so maybe if you don't think?"  
  
"There's this problem where I have a brain."  
  
"I thought we lost that when you hit your head earlier."  
  
"No, maybe I lost my mind when we started this conversation but my brain is intact and telling me to put the broom away and go to sleep in my nice, soft bed."  
  
"Do you ever not think?"  
  
"There you go again with the syntax." She paused, "I've reacted without thinking before. Hmm, when I yelled at Trelawney."  
  
"I'd say you were thinking very clearly when you called the old bat a fraud," he laughed.   
  
She joined in the laughter. "Or the time I slapped Malfoy."  
  
"Well, that's it then," he smacked his hands together with finality. "I know where Draco sleeps. I'll just creep down to the dungeons, lure him outside, and he can irritate you into not thinking. You'll be flying in no time."   
  
His look of satisfaction faded when he realized what he'd said. "Oh, so you've figured out I'm the enemy then. Evil green-clad, snake-loving Slytherin."  
  
"Oh, don't go," she stamped her foot uncharacteristically. She didn't want him to leave. "And don't be silly, McGonagall wears green all the time, head to toe. And I actually figured it out awhile ago when you mentioned our first flying lesson. You're not a Gryffindor or I'd've noticed you, so you had to be a Slytherin."  
  
He looked at her dubiously. "You're sure? Because your friends can be kind of scary and I'd hate for you to regret this the morning after."  
  
She nearly giggled when she thought of the implications of the Muggle phrase he'd unwittingly used. "I solemnly swear not to sic Harry and Ron on you."  
  
"Harry and Ron, my left foot. I was talking about Ginny Weasley, its always the quiet ones," he confided.  
  
She looked him up and down, "Yes, it always is, isn't it?"  
  
"I think you do like me better again," he smiled but blushed as if he hadn't meant to say it outloud. "And I solemnly swear that this is not an evil plot to kill you through misadventure, for example, broomfighting."  
  
"I don't know," she said, "pretty convenient that there are no witnesses."  
  
He saw that she was teasing and said, "Tut, tut, real Slytherins only do what they get can't others to do for them. If I wanted you dead, I would have let you continue to, er, teach yourself."  
  
"Good point."  
  
"I thought so myself. Now get back on the broom." She hovered in the air, and he noticed the broom trembled slightly. He put one hand on the broomstick before her and one on her back. It wasn't enough support to keep her from falling off, but it was nice just the same. "Don't be nervous."  
  
"I can't help it. I get on a broom and all I can think about is falling from a high place like Neville."  
  
"Technically, Neville didn't fall from a high place. He kind of crashed into a wall, then fell from a high place a short distance onto the castle, hung on, then fell a bit more. It was incremental."  
  
She looked at him increduously, "You're not helping even a little."  
  
"Well, everyone else I taught hadn't been witness to the horrible spectacle of Longbottom on a broom."  
  
"Be nice!"  
  
"Its not my day to be nice. I'm being truthful and with a Slytherin, you're lucky to be getting one at all."  
  
"You seem to malign your own House an awful lot."  
  
"Of course I do. If we always talked about how great Slytherin was, all the rabble would want in, and we'd never have any peace."  
  
She laughed and the broom lifted half a foot higher. "Oh my!"  
  
"You're doing fine."  
  
"Make me laugh again!"  
  
"I know I said I was funny but-"  
  
"When I laugh, I'm not thinking and its wonderful."  
  
"Oh, alright, well...this Blast-Ended Skrewt walks into the Three Broomsticks..."  
  
"That's not funny!"  
  
"The pressure's not helping. And, hey, look, you're higher. Apparently, we were on the right track with Malfoy. Getting on your nerves does work."  
  
"Maybe its just high emotion and preoccupation?" She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lip.   
  
He refrained from pointing out that she was sitting three feet in the air, riding the broom with one hand and circiling him. It was a bit dizzying, actually. Or maybe that was just his surging boy hormones reacting to her proximity.  
  
Then she realized exactly what she was doing and that her legs couldn't touch the ground anymore. She started to fall and in doing so, lifted both arms into the air and lost all control of the broom.  
  
"Do something!"  
  
And so he did what he had wanted for some time now, he kissed her.  
  
A startled "meep" was muffled when she stopped falling and started kissing him back. She insinuated her arms about his neck, pleased to find that they were at the perfect height for snogging when she was on a broom.  
  
The broom!  
  
It clattered beneath her but luckily, he had put both arms around her waist during their kiss and managed to catch her before she fell to the ground for the sixth time that night.  
  
She was breathing heavily, for perfectly understandable reasons, but managed to unlock her arms and slide down to the ground. He remained still, and blushed in the dark.  
  
No, this wasn't at all awkward, she thought.  
  
"No, this isn't at all awkward," he said.  
  
It was nice to know he felt the same tension. There was no fun being uncomfortable by yourself but being uncomfortable together could amount to some small talk and good, old-fashioned flirting.  
  
She smiled at him and he looked a bit more optimistic.   
  
"So, I think we've solved your flying problem. I'll just kiss you every time you want to fly."  
  
She looked at him strangely and he swallowed.  
  
She started laughing again, "I think you just tried to chat me up!"  
  
"I just meant with the high emotion and the not thinking..."  
  
"It's okay. I mean, heavily cheesy, yes, but I didn't mind awfully."  
  
"I rather enjoyed the kissing part myself."  
  
"Oh, um, me, too."  
  
They smiled at each other in mutual idiocy.  
  
He broke the moment by leaning down to pick up the broom, "Its getting late. I don't know about McGonagall, but Snape is absolute murder if he catches one of us out after curfew."  
  
"Right. We should go. So," she could feel a ramble coming on. "My name's Hermione which I can guess you already knew but I'd like to know yours. Since I do need to learn how to fly before graduation and you're a very good kisser, I mean you make a good assistant, and I need to know your name because I can't just say, 'Hey, you, clean the entrails off my mighty sword.' It would be rude, don't you think?"  
  
He laughed, but it was a nice sound. "My name is Blaise Zabini. And you're my broomslayer."  
  
"I can live with that." She looked at him slyly, "You said you'd work for free, right?"  
  
"I said I wasn't looking for pay, I didn't say free. I can work for kisses."  
  
"Those were implicit in the contract where you help me learn to fly," she teased.  
  
"Those are different kisses, strictly in the line of duty. I'm adding these because I'm too clever to pass up the opportunity to snog you more."  
  
"You have yourself a deal," she shook his hand but held onto it as they walked off the pitch, towards the castle. "I slay the broom; you're my assistant and funny guy."  
  
"Did you know," he said after looking down at their clasped hands, "in other countries, 'broomslayer' translates into 'Blaise Zabini's girlfriend.'"  
  
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I did know that. That's why I'm the broomslayer."  
  
END  
  
...  



	2. II

Disclaimer: JKR, not me. Alas...  
Dedication: To all the pirates at the HMS Overworked and Underappreciated. This started out as a one-shot cookie, but is now growing.  
  
It may have taken Hermione seven years to notice Blaise, but it was safe to say that now he had her full attention. Well, as much as possible considering NEWTs were upon them. There were three more days of exams left to be followed by three more days until graduation. As seventh years, the three days would be spent doing graduation activities that Hermione would have once called frivolous but now looked forward to with alarming sentimentality.  
  
She would have time to blubber platitudes about forking paths and absence making the heart grow fonder later, she promised herself. For tomorrow she had a thesis due in Unreadable Runes, a practical exam in her Voodoo Seminar, as well as a NEWT on Post Euclidean Arithmancy. She looked across the study table to her boyfriend and smiled. Not many people were able to keep up with her during revision, but he worked diligently (quietly!) and never acted as though her study habits were a sign of incipient madness or repeated concussion. They had studied for the Transfiguration and DADA examinations together and rather effectively, she thought. Between their combined resources, she was sure they had earned top marks. His notes had been outlined and glossed within an inch of the parchment's life before she had even seen them; it was so nice not to have to threaten someone with boils when lending her own notes for once, she knew he would respect them and not accidentally set them on fire (like others she had trusted in her young third year naivete).  
  
She had been nervous the first time she invited him to the Head Students' common room to study, but he had put her at ease quickly. He didn't have any nervous coughs or loud habits. And when Blaise tired of revising, he stopped but didn't bother about her taking a break except in cases where she obviously needed one. He did not whine about his hunger pains or being trapped inside a boring castle on a sunny day. She liked studying with him. He offered a different view, but always gave valid reasons for opposition. In times when she could be persuaded to pause, she liked talking to him. He was as funny as the first they'd met and occasionally rather wicked in his observations.  
  
He looked so good when he studied, too. His wavy hair had the habit of obscuring his high cheekbones so he frequently tucked the strands behind his spectacles. They were rimless squares of charmed glass that perched on his aquiline nose, somehow emphasizing his long lashes and fine eyebrows. She usually thought that perfect eyebrows were wasted on undeserving men, but not in Blaise's case. He was just...carelessly elegant. Harry, her dearest friend, was carelessly messy. Ron showed slightly more interest in his appearance, but only because his muscle mass had finally become proportionate to his great height and he took care to wear clothing that emphasized his frame. It helped that in sixth year, Ron had also realized that maroon was not a flattering color for freckled redheads.   
  
Hermione suspected Lavender had informed him, at great length.  
  
Although Blaise was fastidious in his hygiene, his concern for his physical appearance didn't go beyond basic grooming. Hermione was confident (after years of struggle) in her own looks, but any stylishness was the result of thoughtful deliberation. Not that she'd seen him dress, but she suspected Blaise pulled out whatever was clean in his wardrobe. She had once asked about his summer-weight cloak under the guise of looking for graduation gifts for the boys. Blaise confessed his clothing was the collaboration of his overly concerned mother and her talented tailor. Hermione immediately resolved to write them a sincere letter of gratitude on behalf of the world at large. Clearly, they were doing gods' work.  
  
Right now, he was wearing a cream colored linen shirt with the top three buttons undone and lovely smooth black pants. The colors made his skin glow in the early evening light-  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're staring." He straightened his spectacles on his nose and tucked his hair away again.  
  
Well, Hermione thought, if he's going to do /that/.   
  
"Are you using that book," she pointed across the table at a particularly thick tome.  
  
He looked down, "Divination for Business?"  
  
"That's the one." She had quietly moved around the table by the time he looked back up. She smiled at him impishly before sliding one hand around the nape of his neck and drawing him to her for a kiss.  
  
It was some time later when Hermione released him and they were both breathing heavily. At some point, she had conveniently moved into his lap and she lay her cheek against his chest to take advantage of the position. She'd never felt more /wanted/.  
  
She sighed contentedly and could feel the vibration of his chest against her body when he chuckled in return. He propped her chin up with one of his fingers so she would look at him.  
  
He scolded her with mock severity. "I have an Herbology NEWT tomorrow, my wicked one."  
  
"Well, I'll just take that book then." She turned back to the table to pick up the text but he held her on his lap.  
  
"I did say tomorrow, you know."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
He answered her with another kiss. Both of his hands slipped around her waist and beneath her shirt to rub circular runes on the small of her back. Her hands fisted in his hair when he began to suck on the tender flesh at her throat.  
  
It was in this intimate position that Ron and Harry found them.  
  
The boys' initial reaction was not the problem. They were seventh years after all and Hermione had had boyfriends. Granted, Hermione had suffered a period of brotherly overprotectiveness but she thought they were over it. It had been at least a year since they had dusted off their interrogation schtick. These days their repertoire mostly consisted of shrieking, "My eyes! My eyes!" and running away from even the smallest displays of public affection.  
  
Apparently not.  
  
They hauled Hermione off Blaise without ceremony.  
  
"What are you doing?" She was indignant, she had been, clearly, in the middle of something of vital importance.  
  
"Us? What about you?"  
  
"Do you know who that is?" Harry pointed accusingly at Blaise while Ron sputtered. Hermione worried for Ron's heart, such stress was surely not healthy.  
  
"Of course I know who he is," Hermione hissed. She would have yelled but it would have woken Malfoy up and interference from the Slytherin Head Boy was the last thing they needed. "Now if you don't mind, I need to study."  
  
"Is that what they call it these days?" Harry did an impressive imitation of Mrs. Weasely while Ron crossed his arms in the background.  
  
Years of friendship had taught Hermione how best to deal with the boy's temper tantrums. She glared before pointing at the portrait hole. In her coldest voice she told them, "Leave now. We'll talk about this later."  
  
They both gave her dirty looks but left quietly. As things went, the unexpected confrontation was actually rather mild. They had weathered worse, and would, no doubt, survive worse in the future. At least they had not unsheathed their wands. She would have hated to hex her best friends.  
  
She sighed and sat down in her original seat. She looked across to Blaise and flinched. He was packing his books.  
  
"Hey," she said softly. "They're just...the victims of tragic and repeated head wounds."  
  
He looked at her, his eyes cold and clear of any of the usual affection and good humor. "You didn't tell them w were dating, Hermione."  
  
"They knew we were studying together."  
  
"You would study with Crabbe and Goyle if you thought they had any insight."  
  
"But not for three weeks! And I certainly wouldn't let them into my private space. Ron and Harry know I wouldn't spend so much time with just anyone."  
  
He glared at her. "But you still didn't tell them."  
  
"Well, excuse me for giving them so much credit. I couldn't tell them about our late night flying lessons but it's not like we've been creeping about the castle and snogging behind tapestries. I take most of my meals in here and we don't study in the library for the whole school to see. I never tried to hide our relationship; I just thought they were just taking it well."  
  
"Right." He snorted disbelievingly. "I knew this was going to happen."  
  
"What are you talking about? That divination class is going to your head. Have you been drinking Trelawney's /special/ tea leaves and breathing in her /special/ incense?"  
  
"It's not tea leaves, Hermione. I've watched you for a long time...liked you for a long time. There's a pattern to your dating habits, you never date anyone longer than four weeks or until two exams are given on the same day, whichever comes first. Plus with it being so near graduation, I knew my time was coming. I'd be left behind with all the other childish things when you embarked on some glorious career culminating in your appointment as the youngest Minister of Magic. I mean I don't even know what the glorious career will be or where you'll be living. If you were anywhere as serious as I am about you, you would have at least given me a clue."  
  
Any other girl would have found the thoughtful analysis of her lovelife creepifying but Hermione found it endearing and somewhat attractive. In a way, it proved their compatibility. Because he was right, and he didn't even know about her few Muggle boyfriends.  
  
Time to admire his way with statistics later though, because he had just made a mistake in his argument. It was easy to take this lightly when she know this was really no more than a misunderstanding. She wagged her finger at him, "It's not like you've given me a clue about what you'll be doing. So I have no basis from which to measure how serious you are about me using that particular standard. Therefore I can make no comparison relative to my own feelings."  
  
"You didn't even know I existed for seven years."  
  
"Six years and eight point five months," she corrected him. "And I can't help that. I like you now. I like you very much. I'm your broomslayer."  
  
"You can't even say girlfriend."  
  
"No, I thought you'd find my use of your affectionate nickname a good reminder of our heretofore healthy and /understandable/ relationship. I can say the words. Listen: girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. I am your girlfriend." She paused. "Is this some kind of Slytherin reverse psychology? Are you trying to break up with me?"  
  
"No." He grunted but let her take his hand. "Do you want to break up with me? I mean, you know how a broom won't obey you unless you really want it? Well, I don't want to be with you unless you really want me."  
  
Hermione blinked. "Did you just use a broomstick metaphor?"  
  
His silence made her realize just how crucial this conversation truly was; any other time he would have offered her a bit of his perveted sense of humor. Something fundamental in Hermione cried out, 'Do you realize we have exams tomorrow? We don't have time for this.' It was a measure of Blaise's importance to her, that she stifled the cry.  
  
She took a deep breath before speaking. "I want to be with you. It may have taken seven years, but you made quite the first impression. You're funny, smart, patient, and you smell lovely which is not as common as you might think in eighteen year old males who've supposedly mastered the scourgify charm. And you're rather...dashing."  
  
He looked at her doubtfully.  
  
"Did I not just molest you? If you've been watching me for as long as you keep saying, you have to know I do not shove revision off for just any darkly handsome guy who happens to be my boyfriend." She blushed, "I'm lusting after you, but not just your body. I like your wicked sense of humor and how quiet you are when you concentrate on things like the aerial hospitality ceremonies of Ancient Near East cultures. You have my attention, and I want yours. I want you to concentrate on me. I want to be with you. Honestly."  
  
Blaise rubbed his free hand through his hair before looking into her eyes.   
  
"I can't do this right now. Look, I need to study. Can we talk after NEWTs? Friday night?"  
  
It was the practical thing to do but it didn't make her happy. She nodded anyway.  
  
He grabbed his books and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek. "Thank you."  
  
----  
  
I think I'm running through all the Hermione cliches. The first was Hermione and flying, now we've got "Rona and Harry find out!" Ah, well. It was a bit of a different thing but I hoped you liked it...  



	3. III

Although Blaise Zabini survived his Herbology and Diviniation NEWTs, he was much relieved by the knowledge that he didn't actually need them to secure his future career. Yes, they were over but his concentration was still completely shot. His palms were sweaty. And his stupid hair wouldn't stay out of his eyes. It wasn't long enough to tie back and he fairly certain his mother would disown him if he so much as visualized shears near it, but he had limits and was close to doing something /irrevocable/.  
  
His practical final in Blindfolded Flying at Obscene and Well-Nigh Fatally High Velocities was in two hours and he refused to take it with stupid hair. Really, Madam Hooch was barely allowed to teach the course at all and his death would definitely remove it from the curriculum. Clearly, if only for Madam Hooch and future generations of broomstick enthusiasts everywhere, something had to be done.  
  
Dear god. He never suspected himself capable of melodrama of Draco proportions. Next, he'd be threatening to 'tell his /father/ about this.'  
  
Blaise sighed loudly and heads snapped audibly to watch him angst.  
  
Everything was wrong. People were not supposed to watch him. That was /his/ job. He was supposed to coolly watch people from a safe distance and then offer his penetratingly accurate observations at rare opportunities that would further the myth of Blaise Zabini, the Silent but Dangerous Slytherin.  
  
Seven years of image work was shattered because he had finally gotten Hermione Granger's attention. And, to think, it wasn't because she was Gryffindor or even Muggleborn, but because she made his palms sweat.  
  
Unbelievable.  
  
Why had he suggested to delay their talk until after exams? Sure, the delay of heartfelt emotional confrontation was inherent in the male of the species, but shouldn't his utter Slytherin-ness preclude the sweatiness and stupid hair? The idea was that delaying the Talk (clearly, capitalization was needed) would let him concentrate on his exams but instead it merely served to prolong the agony.   
  
He should seek her out and finish this once and for all.  
  
Decisively, he slammed his book shut and glared at his offended Housemates before leaving the common room with haughty dignity. He would track down Hermione Granger, who was still his girlfriend even if he sometimes was unsure whether they actually had broken up during that disastrous day, and kiss her until his insecurities melted away and they had established a standing date for Friday nights after graduation.  
  
Unless, of course, he ran into her best friends in the dungeons.  
  
Ron had the look of someone fresh from Snape's detention and ready to take out his frustrations on the nearest available Slytherin. Harry looked slightly less hostile, but only because looked exhausted. When Ron elbowed his friend, though, his eyes brightened and Blaise flinched.  
  
They homed in on him in an eerily unpracticed yet synchronized pincer movement worthy of Crabbe and Goyle. Each took an elbow and Harry said, "We were just looking for you."  
  
Blaise looked back towards the entrances of the common room and Snape's office.  
  
Ron caught his eye, "We've only got four days of school left. Snape can't do anything in that time that wouldn't be worth it."  
  
"So let's go have a little talk, shall we, Zabini," Harry didn't wait for a response but only led Blaise into the dark shadows of the castle.  
  
By the time they reached their destination, Blaise had come to a decision. Hermione made his palms sweat; her friends did not. It was time to act like it.  
  
He opened the door to the tapestry-hidden room after they unlocked it. Then he took the largest, most comfortable seat and warded the room for silence and safety.  
  
The two Gryffindors exchanged a measuring glance before taking their own seats across from him.  
  
Blaise held out his wand, "I assume none of us wants Hermione to know about this little conference."  
  
Ron and Harry nodded and they took the wand oath.  
  
Blaise firmly retained the lead; he knew if he allowed the other boys any control, interaction would soon be reduced to violence and yelling. "Go on and ask your questions. I'll decide what I can answer and in what detail."  
  
"Fair enough," Harry nodded. "What are your intentions towards Hermione Jane Granger?"  
  
Blaise could see this was going to be fairly predictable as interrogations went. Having seen the post-interrogation carcasses of boyfriends past, he'd been prepared for far worse. "Currently, to smooth over any conflicts between us so that we can continue our romantic relationship."  
  
"And what would those conflicts be?"  
  
"Personal."  
  
Ron made vague snort of disapproval but let it go. "If you're so intent on 'smoothing' things over, where have you been for the last two days?"  
  
"Giving her personal space and the opportunity to study."  
  
Harry seemed to pause at the second half of his answer. "How long have you and Hermione Jane Granger been romantically involved?"  
  
"Three weeks."  
  
"And how long have you had romantic intentions towards Hermione Jane Granger?"  
  
"Five years. And I think you can just use her first name. I'm not going to get her confused with all the other Hermiones you caught me snogging."  
  
"So there are others!"  
  
Harry ignored his friend's outburst. "Hey, that's longer than you, Ron."  
  
"Shut up, Harry." The Weasley looked at Blaise speculatively, "Do you love her?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, not good enough for you? Too Muggleborn, maybe?"  
  
"I didn't say that," Blaise said. "We've only been dating for three weeks, wouldn't you be worried if I claimed to love her after so short a time? Don't you think that's a little fast?"  
  
"We're the ones asking the questions here," Harry crossed his arms. "She's worth ten of you."  
  
"I never said she wasn't. That's why I'm being so careful of her. I don't want to make any premature declarations only to find I can't make good. And if I were to make a declaration, I'd certainly tell her /first/."  
  
Ron grumbled and Harry kept giving Blaise dirty looks, but they both had to concede the point.  
  
"How come we didn't know you two were dating if you care so much?"  
  
"She thought you were being uncharacteristically mature."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I couldn't believe it either but that's Hermione for you. Clever girl, but she lets her faith interfere with her logic. She thought you knew, it's not like we were hiding it."  
  
"Mental," Ron muttered beneath his breath.  
  
Harry interrupted, "So, the Slytherins know?"  
  
"It's not like I took out an ad in the Prophet, but I assume Draco noticed my daily presence in their common room."  
  
"Huh. Why hasn't a riot broken out?"  
  
Blaise sighed. "I'm frightening by Slytherin standards. I haven't survived seven years in my house without reason. Then there's the blackmail, of course."  
  
"But what about Malfoy," Harry pressed on. "He hates Hermione. I can't see why he hasn't set Goyle and Crabbe on you."  
  
Blaise smirked. "See reasons one and two."  
  
"But I don't get it. If you have something over Malfoy, why haven't we seen you-"  
  
"Terrorizing him? Not my style."  
  
Ron shook his head, "No, really-"  
  
"Look, I'm not telling you. If I told anyone, it'd be Hermione and seeing as how she's not currently speaking to me, it might be awhile."  
  
"Right, about Hermione. What did you do?" Ron took a menacing stance. Blaise could tell it took of Weasley's restraint not to thrust a menacing fist in the air between them.  
  
Blaise paused. Had he managed to affect Hermione enough for the Oblivious Twins to notice? Maybe there was hope...  
  
"Again, I'll need to speak with her first."  
  
"What makes you think we'll let you?"  
  
"Because she'll do what she wants. She probably remembers how to erase your faces."  
  
"You heard about that?"  
  
The three were quiet. Blaise could practically see the thinking process going on in their heads as they decided he might not be so bad after all. Ha, as if they had a choice. If (if!) Hermione still wanted him, she'd have him.  
  
"Hey, Blaise? Do you know what she's doing after graduation?"  
  
He gave them a swift look, "No. Don't you?"  
  
Harry and Ron exchanged another glance before turning to him decisively. "She's having tea at Hagrid's and revising for her Endangered Fantastic Beasts NEWT. We'll take you there. Maybe you can get something out of her...she's never dated anyone as long as you..."  
  
"Can't," Blaise shook his head. "I've got my flying practical in half an hour."  
  
Harry's eyes lit up, "Blindfolded Flying at Obscene and Well-Nigh Fatally High Velocities?"  
  
Ron looked similarly excited, "Mum wouldn't let me sign up and the Ministry practically banned Harry. You're taking that? Brilliant, can we watch? What do you fly?"  
  
Blaise smirked.  
  
Harry tried to frown and elbowed his friend, "Just to make sure you get to Hermione okay afterwards, of course."  
  
"Of course," Blaise stood and moved towards the door.  
  
As the three boys left the room, Ron patted Blaise's shoulder with manly pressure. "We'll still break your head if you make her cry, of course. Or hold her down while she hexes you; she doesn't like it when they run."  
  
"Of course," Blaise smirked, knowing that was as close as he was going to get to their approval. Now all he had to do was survive his practical, speak to Hermione , and maybe solve the mystery of exactly what she was going to do after graduation. Was there a reason it was so important for her to learn how to fly?  
  
"Hey, uh, Blaise?"   
  
"Yes?" Blaise turned towards Ron, who was looking at his hand in disgust.  
  
"Are you always this sweaty or are you just really scared or us?"  



	4. IV

Perspiration aside, Blaise did quite well on his practical and moreover, he had done so with style. He bypassed the issue of slippery hands by not using them; when he began to slow for descent, he positioned himself in a lunge position on the broom with his arms out on either side of him. It was an advanced move, one that few in the class had mastered and therefore earned him a top mark as well as a racing license. When Madam Hooch removed his blindfold, he was pleased to see that Ron and Harry were both on their feet in the stands, clapping and cheering. While he wasn't sure about his personal feelings regarding the two (besides being pleasant enough to placate his girlfriend), Blaise respected them both as broomsmen and their approval was appreciated.  
  
He had to admit that, for a brief and ugly moment, he had considered manufacturing an accident. Timed correctly, a fall from his broom would provide a small amount of pain but practically guarantee Hermione's appearance at his bedside, tearful and ready to reconcile. But he had his pride and other reasons to abandon that path besides. For one, he didn't want to be hospitalized in the last days of school. Also, he was certain that Hermione, in that infuriatingly reliable way of hers, would somehow find out and her wrath at being manipulated was quite simply not worth it. Slytherin girls would take it as a matter of course, or even be flattered at his extremes, but Hermione was not that sort of girl. Oh, she was capable of a fair amount of deception herself (which he admittedly found incredibly attractive) but romantic relationships were clearly not the arena for their exercise. After all, hadn't their argument been provoked by his desire for honesty in the first place?  
  
Which, of course, reminded Blaise that he still needed to survive the Talk. He waited for the Gryffindor boys on the ground; there was no way he was approaching Hagrid's without an escort. The groundskeeper might be a gentle giant by nature, but that meant nothing considering he also lacked any concept of safety and logical proportion.  
  
"That was wicked, Blaise," Harry said. "I try for my racing license after graduation. Shall we set up a match sometime?"  
  
Blaise nodded absently, distracted by the way Ron was eying his broomstick.  
  
There was wide-look on the redhead's face as he asked, "Blaise, you're not related to Bernadette Zabini von Bolt of the Munich von Bolts, are you?"  
  
Harry looked at surprised. Ron had never seemed much interested in society and bloodlines.  
  
"Aunt Bernie's my dad's sister."  
  
"If you let me hold your broom, I'll let you marry Hermione!"  
  
Harry blinked, trying to ignore any possible double entendres and the general wrongness of Ron's outburst as Ron reverently stroked the wood of Blaise's admittedly superior broomstick.  
  
"Don't you see? Harry, It's a prototype."  
  
Harry squinted then raised his hand to the broomstick to stroke it as well, "Is that a Hermes?"  
  
Ron made a 'tsk' sound and corrected his friend in a prissy tone that reminded Blaise of a certain Malfoy of their acquaintance. "The 'H' is silent. It is a 'Ermes," the latest model from von Bolt luxury line."  
  
They began the walk towards Hagrid's hut and Blaise shrugged stuck his hand in his pockets, deciding it would do him no good to try to take his broom back. It would let him formulate his plan of approach, anyway. "Early graduation present from my aunt."  
  
Harry gave him a measuring look. "Right, then. About that wedding. You know, its traditional to give the bride's party," he nodded towards Ron, "which would, as Hermione's best mates, be us, naturally, gifts, right?"  
  
After navigating past the pumpkin patch and the three-headed dog, Blaise allowed himself a deep breath while Harry knocked on the stout hut door.  
  
"Ah, 'Arry an Ron. Got some fresh treacle tarts." The giant moved out of the doorway, to let them in. Ron surreptitiously punched Blaise in the arm to get his attention and then made a gesture that clearly translated into, 'Do not take the tarts under any circumstances. In fact, eat nothing. Drink nothing.'  
  
"And who's this then? You'd be Blaise Zabini, fellow 'Mione's been smiling about last few weeks. None of her other ones ever came out. You /are/ a good one." Hagrid took Blaise's hand in his huge grip and squeezed it in a way he probably thought was friendly and non-threatening. Then he winked at him. "You treat her right, now. I know places in the Forest where they couldn't find you, assuming the centaurs left something to find."  
  
Blaise stood very still while he hoped Ron didn't choose to disclose the fact that the couple was currently on the outs. But after a minute, his basic nature prevailed over fear and he smirked at Harry, as if to say, 'See, even Hagrid knew we were dating.'  
  
Harry frowned but only sat down at Hagrid's squat table. "Hagrid, this is Hermione's book. Is she around?"  
  
"You just missed her, actually. We were having ourselves a late tea. See, that's her cuppa. Funny. Not two minutes before you got knocked, she ran out the other door. Not like 'Mione to forget her books, is it?"  
  
Ron looked at Blaise expectantly. Blaise suppressed the urge to curl his (sweaty!) palms in frustration. She had run away from him! How dare she, that lovely little twit! It was one thing for her to be studying and not crossing paths, particularly since he'd been confining his lurking to the dungeons, but quite another for her to be actively avoiding him when he'd already decided that the argument was negligible, they were going to fix everything, and all would be beautiful and springtime birdsong if had he to bribe all of Slytherin and half of the Hufflepuffs to make it happen.  
  
He thought he hid his anger it rather well when he made his excuses to Hagrid then tore the book out of Harry's hands, claiming he was going to return it to his girlfriend.  
  
He paused as he looked at Ron, who was still holding the Hermes. "You can hold onto that, but I hope you'll both get some studying done before you try it out. We still have one day of NEWTs, after all."  
  
He then decisively, but always politely, closed the door behind him and stomped, but with utmost dignity, after his fugitive broomslayer.  
  
Had he closed the door less forcefully and more slowly, he would have seen the incredulous exchange of looks between Hagrid, Ron, and Harry only to be broken by Ron's exclamation.  
  
"Bloody hell. They're made for each other."   



	5. V

A man who cared less would have presented himself to Hermione immediately.  
  
Blaise's first order of business, however, was a bath. He may not have been the most experienced person in terms of romance but he was nevertheless an intelligent being and therefore realized that the odds of his success at increased at least fivefold if he took pains to be clean. Hermione had, after all, professed a positive interest in his fresh scent. The very least he could do was wash away the exertion of his flying exam and the general ambiance of Hagrid's hut, or rather, the musky wildlife surrounding the hut.  
  
So it was only after the completion of a comprehensive soak that Blaise presented himself at the Head Students' portrait hole.  
  
"Good evening," he bowed to the grazing hippogriffs. They eyed him before bowing back and the skinny watch-wizard who pretended to be herding them scampered down his tree, quickly while their heads were down, inside the common room to inform the residents of their visitor.  
  
A few moments later, Draco opened the door and sneered at him.  
  
Blaise gazed at the Head Boy serenely, "I give you a four for effort. Perhaps if you practiced with a mirror? I hear Snape does and he has a fine vocabulary of offensive expressions. You might want to try it. Or ask for suggestions. You could go now."  
  
"My esteemed colleague can't come to the door," Draco gave the last few words a sour twist.   
  
Blaise knew the two had a fine working relationship but not much tolerance beyond that. Draco would cheerfully feed Hermione to a quintaped; Hermione might not do the same but only because she would fear for the creature's indigestion. She was like that. It made Blaise grin a bit, in turn, making Draco step back in surprise before continuing.   
  
"Granger is occupied with studying at the moment, not that it matters since she'll have no more wish to see you later during that brief three second period she has between studying and snoring so you see your presence here is unwelcome. And, please, do not mistake this occasion for habit. I have not become her doorman or messenger boy but wanted the opportunity to impart my own opinion. I, for one, think dropping you is the smartest thing she has ever done and the most reasonable action possible from either of the two of you. She might be a m-muggleborn, but I suppose considering the other party is you, it is to be expected that she be the intelligent party and see that your /liaison/ was an abomination."  
  
The sneer was replaced by a smirk of smug satisfaction as Draco moved to shut the portrait in Blaise's face.  
  
In response, Blaise did not swiftly shove the portrait into Draco's sharp features or tower intimidatingly over him. The latter would have required some interesting footwear considering the two were of a height.   
  
Rather, Blaise conversationally said, "Parkinson was looking particularly depressed today after her Potions NEWT. I was thinking of cheering her up with a present as my altruistic deed for the day. After all, marks don't matter to a woman who marries well enough."  
  
Blaise was gratified to see that Draco caught his drift immediately but his mouth took awhile to catch up to the threat. "From Granger to Parkinson, I can't say that's trading up."  
  
Blaise looked Draco in the face and then casually picked a piece of lint from the collar of shirt and the common room's candlelight caught the heavy gold ring on his hand in a shining halo.  
  
Draco's response was predictable. "I'll tell my father about this."  
  
"Please do tell dear cousin Lucius. I'm sure Narcissa will appreciate the forewarning when it comes time to pick out china patterns and all that."  
  
Draco glowered but let Blaise in any way. He pointed to Hermione's door and then stomped off to his own room.  
  
Blaise knocked softly on Hermione's door, "I know you were eavesdropping. Can you come out here? I can't return your book when you're ignoring me."  
  
"Yes, you can. Just leave it on the table. I'm busy studying."  
  
"No," he said patiently. "You're not. You only have more exam and I have your book. And if you're being silly enough to forget your textbook then you're silly enough to be thinking about me instead of the tragic plight of snidget."  
  
He could hear an audible huff from inside and shuffling as she presumably moved to the doorway. She opened the door and Blaise could see that her hair was a wild mass and there were dark circles under her eyes.  
  
Still, he feared incipient symptoms of sweaty palms. Best to get started before that happened.  
  
"One, the current global snidget population is such that it is no longer in risk of extinction due, in part, to Quidditch. Two, thinking about you is not silly."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that because that would mean I've been indulging in silliness of the highest order. Now, come here and talk to me." He held out his free hand and led her to one of the common room couches, one that particularly invoked rather delightful memories for him. He made a mental note to share those with Draco later.  
  
She looked at him but bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry I didn't tell Harry and Ron."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"Okay? You threw a hissy fit and broke up with me and now you say its bygones and did you know its NEWTs-"  
  
"Shh," he took her other hand to prevent impending violence. Let it not be said that he didn't learn from the mistakes of others. "I reacted badly. Stress and insecurity mostly but I've done some thinking and, well, I don't speak well, so here."  
  
She took the leather folio he shoved towards her and opened it on the table. "Coordinates?"  
  
"And pass codes. I thought you'd like to visit my home after graduation, maybe visit my family. No pressure though."  
  
"Marium?" She said curiously as perused the papers. Placating her with new knowledge, reading material, and glossy photographs had been an integral part of his strategy.  
  
"Its an island in the Tyrrenien, closest neighbor is Sicily. You'd have to take the ferry from there. Marium's been unplottable since the Phoenicians razed the pirate cove. We're mostly wizards; squibs usually stay on the island and their offspring are magic again within a few generations. You'd like the village, especially in comparison to Hogsmeade. And I can show you the ruins, used to look for plunder with my sibs and the cousins."  
  
"Blaise, that's an adorable visual."  
  
"Well, you know, that's me. Visual." He looked at her with a crooked grin and hope in his eyes.  
  
"So we're not going to have a fight?"  
  
"I'd rather not. But if you want to, we can, and I'll let you win."  
  
"That's so...refreshing."  
  
"The way I see it, I like you a lot and I'm not going to let my social ineptitude get in the way of your reciprocation. I might doubt your sanity in returning my feelings, but I'll never get over that if we end it now. If you want to like me, I have no problem with that even if I was acting like I did." Blaise took a breath, "We can have a passionate lust-driven yet emotionally significant embrace to compensate if you feel that declaration was inadequately dramatic."  
  
"Okay."  



End file.
